


You Got Me

by enjolrolo



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hospitals, I love my boys, M/M, Spot is high on cold medicine?, petnames, soft spot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10362618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrolo/pseuds/enjolrolo
Summary: Race gets a call from the emergency room.





	

  
"Excuse me?" Race stops, right in the middle of the sidewalk, and he hears grumbles from people who have to swerve around him.

  
"You're Sean's emergency contact. He's here in the emergency room, but he's been taken care of, he just needs to be picked up," the man on the other end explains patiently.

  
Race is just trying to figure out who the fuck Sean is. "Uh. Okay, sure, I'll be there soon."

  
"Thank you," the man from the hospital says, and Race hangs up.

  
He steals Specs’s car, leaving a note explaining absolutely nothing on Specs’s apartment door, and it's all very confusing until Race walks into the emergency room waiting area and approaches the counter.

  
"I'm here for Sean?" Race asks.

  
The receptionist nods, and when he speaks, Race recognizes him as the man on the phone. "I'll let the nurse know you're here for him."

  
Race hovers awkwardly at the desk for a few minutes, and then the door at the other end of the lobby swings open and Spot Conlon staggers in, accompanied by a nurse.

  
"Your name is Sean?" Race asks accusingly. They've been dating for two years, and Race is just now finding this out?

  
Spot beams at him, and turns to his nurse. "That's him! He's Racetrack and he's my boyfriend."

  
The nurse nods, clearly having heard this many times before, and then holds out a sheet of paper to Race. Race almost misses what she's said because he's still fixated on the fact that Spot called him his boyfriend in front of all these people. He _never_ does that. But the nurse is talking and Race has to move on for the moment. “--He can pick his antibiotics up by tomorrow morning.”

  
“Wait, sorry. What happened?” Race asks.

  
“Instead of coming in for medical care when he contracted pneumonia, he drank an entire bottle of cold medicine and later collapsed at work,” the nurse explains. “He should be fine, besides the pneumonia. He's still a little high, though.”

  
“Conlon,” Race snarls, “you are so dead.”

  
Spot pouts. “I'm just tryna make a living, baby.”

  
It takes a lot not to melt at the petname--Spot has never, ever called anyone “baby” before--but Race remembers he's mad. “You have pneumonia!”

  
“Jus’ a little bit.”

  
Race pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to ten. Then, he thanks the nurse very politely, takes the printed information from her, and herds Spot towards where he'd parked Specs’s car. “You're unbelievable.”

  
Spot is stumbling along a little, looking a little worse for wear, but he’s unabashedly staring at Race as much as he can get away with. “You came and got me.”

  
“Yeah, I did.”

  
“I love you so much, Racey.” Spot doubles over in coughing then, but when he's done, he picks up right where he left off. “You came and got me.”

  
“Which you've said.” Race isn't sure why Spot thinks getting picked up at the emergency room is something unheard of for a boyfriend to do, but he decides to worry about that later. “We're gonna get you home.”

  
It's a short walk to the car. Spot alternates between coughing and talking the whole way, speaking more than Race has heard him say in a week. Spot avoids drugs and alcohol like the plague, and Race has never seen High Spot before. Thus far, Race is very pleased with the lack in Spot’s normal forced masculinity.  
Race opens the car door for Spot to get in, and he's pretty sure Spot glows as he declares Race the “best boyfriend ever” and climbs in.

  
“When did you know you had pneumonia?” Race asks as he and Spot finally reach their floor of the apartment building. Spot has taken firm hold of Race’s hand, which makes it a little difficult for Race to juggle getting the key to their apartment out. He manages, because Spot never holds his hand and Race is _living_.

  
“Probably Monday. My lungs hurt real bad.”

  
“You didn't say anything.” The door now unlocked, Race pulls Spot inside. “Why didn't I know?”

  
Spot shrugs and, overall, doesn't look like he expected Race to notice. “You’se a heavy sleeper, it's not your fault.”

  
“Can you tell me next time you're sick?”

  
Spot sits on the couch. It's more of a controlled fall, but Race is just relieved Spot didn't pass out again on the way home. “I don't wanna worry you, babe. You'se so stressed out all the time.”

  
“So’re you.” Race flops onto the couch next to Spot, and Spot immediately takes Race’s hand again, cuddling up and tucking his face into Race’s neck.

It takes two minutes for Race to convince himself that talking to Spot is more important than taking advantage of Spot actually being cuddly for once. “Spot, I'm kinda pissed you didn't tell me something was wrong.”

  
The feeling of Spot’s lips moving against Race’s neck is extremely distracting. Why is Race mad at him again? “It's not like I died or anything.” Right, that's why. “I would have said something if I had, like, the plague.” Here he stops to cough against Race’s shoulder, and it's not pretty at all.

  
“That's disgusting,” Race says, but doesn't move. “And you actually sound like you do have the plague.”

  
"Thought it was just a bad cold.”

  
“So you drank an entire bottle of cough syrup and passed out.”

  
Spot giggles, and Race is actually in love with him. “Finch flipped his shit, he was so startled when I fell over. You shoulda seen his face--”

  
“You passed out, _Sean_.”

  
The cough medicine must be wearing off, because Race feels Spot frown. “Don't call me Sean, asshole.”

  
It would be a lie if Race said he didn't miss the “baby” Spot called him earlier, but this also means that Spot is feeling better. “What? That's your name.”

  
Spot looks up at Race, and he's pouting again. “What if I call you Anthony, what would you do?”

  
“Probably dump you.”

  
“Noooo.” Spot tightens his grip around Race. “Don't leave me you're the best part of my life.”

  
“Gay,” Race states. “You're gay.”

  
“Shut the fuck up.”


End file.
